


We Can’t Afford a Carriage

by lindafishes8



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-03
Updated: 2014-08-03
Packaged: 2018-02-11 15:43:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2073813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lindafishes8/pseuds/lindafishes8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for LJ's Section VII "What's my Line" prompt: 'The Men From U.N.C.L.E. need transportation because...'</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Can’t Afford a Carriage

The men from U.N.C.L.E were on the run.

The T.H.R.U.S.H. satrap in rural Ohio had been completely destroyed thanks to Napoleon’s impeccable planning and Illya’s explosives expertise. The building had been full of chemicals and the fiery explosion flattened it with a rather loud BOOM. But now the hornet’s nest had been shaken and the men were at a flat out full run in an attempt to escape with their lives.

Before the C4 explosive was even planted, Illya and Napoleon removed the distributor caps from all of the T.H.R.U.S.H. vehicles; ensuring they would not be followed, but when their own vehicle failed to start there was no time to diagnose the problem.

At least they had a 10 minute head start.

“What the hell went wrong with our Jeep?” Napoleon yelled at his partner, a little breathless as one can be after running non-stop for over a mile.

“How should I know?” Illya rebutted. “I didn’t exactly have time to tear the engine apart!”

“Let’s get off this main road and over to that farmer’s property. Maybe he’s got a pickup truck we can ‘borrow’.”

They left the road and made their way to an old weathered red barn with ‘Mail Pouch Tobacco’ painted on the side that they had noted on their route to the satrap.

There was no sign of the farmer or any truck, car, tractor or even a horse that would ease their escape. They were tired, sweaty, winded, and disappointed.

Nothing of any use was in the barn; then Illya noticed a brand new shed off to the side.

“Let me just take a quick look,” he said, and disappeared inside.

The Russian returned a moment later with a strange looking hot pink two seater bicycle with a small motor attachment. He unscrewed the gas cap and determined the tank was full, gave the starter cord a few pulls, and the little motor purred to life.

Solo stood there and stared with his mouth agape.

“I’m not getting on that thing. It looks like a throwback from the twenties.”

“Suit yourself, but it’ll get us out of here much quicker than running, however, if that’s what you prefer…” Illya answered back.

Illya hopped onto the noisy bike and started to pull away before Napoleon stopped him and sat his derriere on the seat behind his partner. The bike took them back onto the road to town.

“This is a nice little ride after all,” Solo shouted but it was difficult to hear over the motor and the wind in their ears.

He started to whistle a familiar tune and then broke out into song of the same tune, knowing Illya hated his singing but couldn’t possibly hear him over the noise.

Half an hour later they were back at their hotel and seated in the bar; having made arrangements for their escape vehicle to be returned to it’s rightful owner along with a note of thanks and a twenty dollar bill.

Illya was rather quiet as he sipped on an ice cold brew.

Napoleon eyed him with a sideways glance.

“What’s the matter? We made it out with our skins intact didn’t we?”

Illya turned to his partner, looked him straight in the eyes and asked,

“Who is this ‘Daisy’ and why do I look ‘sweet upon the seat of a bicycle built for two’?


End file.
